


All That's Best of Dark and Bright

by esteoflorien



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora and Sarah move sweetly from tentative friendship to love. A love story in three acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Names

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerilouslyClose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerilouslyClose/gifts).



I.

“Cora,” she breathes, startling Sarah as she ties off the ribbon at the end of her braid, so lowly that Sarah might have thought she’d imagined it if Lady Grantham hadn’t repeated herself. “I told you I wanted us to be friends. I do so wish you’d call me Cora.”

Sarah glances at her in the mirror in surprise; what could she be thinking, this woman, with her dreamy, tired voice? How could they possibly be friends, when Sarah’s first inclination is always to watch her in the mirror, only ever meeting the reflection of her gaze?

At Sarah’s silence, she turns and reaches for her. “I am sorry I lashed out at you, that afternoon, O’Brien. It was uncalled for, and I was taking my frustration out on you. I’ve thought of it often. I sounded more like my mother-in-law than myself, and I hated myself in that moment. I am sorry.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Sarah answers, relieved that her manners have shown themselves in spite of herself. She rubs her thumbs over Lady Grantham’s knuckles in an attempt to relieve the tension. “It’s so long ago, now, and I wasn’t in the right. I wish it hadn’t been troubling you so.”

“I was cruel, O’Brien, for no reason other than that I could be. I’m sorry,” she says again, and if it were anyone else, Sarah would be unable to believe anyone else that a tense exchange with a servant still bothered her so many years later.

“Please don’t think about it anymore, my lady. I’d forgotten, truly. And I’ve done things I’m not proud of, reacted in ways I shouldn’t have,” Sarah finds herself saying, with her one opportunity to apologize. “There are times when I should have done more, when I should have been better than I am, and I didn’t. I’m sorry, too.” Vaguely, as Lady Grantham accepts her apology with a tremulous smile and softly murmured thanks, it occurs to Sarah that this could very well be her dismissal, these tender words whispered by the mirror, the firelight reflected in the corner of the glass.

Lady Grantham turns her attention to the vanity, to the strand of cream-colored pearls lying on their velvet bed, caressing them idly with her fingertips. “Do you think you might call me Cora, when it’s just us?” She whispers her own name so fervently it sounds like a prayer.

Sarah stifles a laugh at her unintended sweetness, and settles for what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Only if you call me Sarah, my lady.”

“I wouldn’t want to offend you. You’re not a housemaid,” she murmurs, and Sarah has the sense that she’s still not comfortable with the trappings of the title she bought, with the way it governs how she treats her staff.

“You couldn’t, my lady, and certainly not with something so simple.” It’s what’s right, anyway, it’s what she should say. A step closer to friendship is the best she can hope for. No matter what they call each other, there’s no way Sarah will ever call her ladyship more than friend, and even if it’s a far cry from love, it’s far better than mistress.

It’s strange, Sarah soon discovers, how very much the simple act of using their Christian names has changed them, for all that she’s still without question Cora’s lady’s maid, seeing to her jewels and her dresses and her laundry. It’s as if, in calling themselves friends, as Cora has long insisted, they’ve simply made it true. Sarah quickly discovers that Cora is tactile and affectionate, that before long she thinks nothing of resting her head on Sarah’s shoulder or lacing their fingers together. They take to spending the afternoon together, the lonely spinster who has kept ruthlessly to herself, and the lonelier wife and mother, seemingly forgotten by her husband and daughters. “There’s no sense in it,” Cora had said, one afternoon, “you downstairs doing my mending, alone, and me by myself up here.” Sarah had been inclined to agree, of course, it being far quieter and brighter in Cora’s pretty bedroom than the servants’ hall.

Soon enough, it becomes a pleasant habit, these quiet afternoons spent contentedly in each other’s company. Sarah sits and sews, or polishes, and Cora reads aloud with her musical voice and leisurely cadence. They work their way through Byron and Blake and Tennyson as the summer days pass into autumn, and Sarah finally appreciates poetry for the art that it is, for the beauty of a well-crafted turn of phrase. “And all that’s best of dark and bright/ meet in her aspect and in her eyes,” Cora recites, one afternoon, her eyes closed, not even glancing at the book. Sarah commits everything to memory, then: the sunset that makes Cora glow, tucked as she is into the window seat; the softness of her voice; the poetry that seems as if it were written for her, not for her to say. Most of all, she memorizes the poem, nicking the volume of Byron from the library once Cora’s finished with it, reciting it to herself at night, in bed, before she sleeps, only to dream of whispering it in Cora’s ear.


	2. Of Gifts

One afternoon, Cora stops reading, and by the time Sarah notices, much to her embarrassment, Cora has managed to appear at her side on the edge of the divan, her book forgotten on the window seat.

           “Would you teach me?” she asks, peering down at the broderie anglaise in Sarah’s lap.

           “Teach you to work needle lace?” She can’t quite believe it, but then, needle lace is a lady’s art; Sarah’s rather appropriated it, herself. “Of course I would.”

           Cora looks expectantly at her, and Sarah can’t help but laugh. “I can’t teach you to do this right away, Cora. You need to understand how lace is made, and to do that, I need things I don’t have. Can you wait until I can buy you the right thread and needles and backing?” She does have thread to spare, and needles, and probably even the backing, but Cora ought to have new things, Sarah decides. Not because she’s a Countess, but because when Sarah learned to stitch lace, the notions her grandmother bought her were some of the few new things she’d ever received in her life until she came to Downton, when Cora liked to surprise her with little gifts whenever something caught her eye.

           “When will you go?” There’s all the yearning of an eager child in her voice.

           “Usually on my half day. So next Friday.”

           Cora frowns, but acquiesces with a nod of her head. “May I watch you now?”

           “Of course, Cora. I’ll try and explain, but I’m afraid it’ll be rather confusing at first. It’d be as if you tried to teach me to embroider flowers, without me knowing any of the stitches.”

           “I see,” Cora says with a smile, and watches Sarah’s hands with a quiet interest.

           When Sarah finally hides her thread and sets her work aside, Cora leans her head on the younger woman’s shoulder and says, wistfully, “I don’t suppose I might accompany you.”

           “I can’t imagine you’d want to go shopping with me, Cora.”

           “I wouldn’t mind. I would likely be a nuisance, though,” she says, and Sarah is reminded that Cora, more than anything, seems to need her friendship – or rather the reassurance of her friendship, which isn’t the same thing at all.

           “You couldn’t be. And anyway, I would very much like it if you were to come with me.”

           “I’d like to go. I’ve never been in a notions shop before,” Cora says, with a delicate snort of laughter.

           “Now that surprises me,” Sarah says. “You do a fair amount of needlework. I’d have thought you’d been to many a similar shop. Nicer, I’m sure, but similar.”

           “No – I just call in my orders, or send out for them. Fabric is easy enough, and I know what floss I need,” she says, her voice trailing off.

           Then Sarah remembers – Cora keeps the entire catalogue of colors tucked away in a marvelous oak case, and orders replacements whenever one color gets low, without any idea if she’ll need it in the near future. That’s the luxury of having money.

           “Well then, we’ll spend an afternoon at the shops,” Sarah finally says.

           “We can go whenever you like, Sarah. You don’t need to use your half day.”

           Sarah tilts back to look Cora in the eye, wholly disinclined to shift her off of her shoulder. “If it’s not inconvenient, I’d rather wait and spend my free afternoon with you.”

           “But we spend practically every afternoon together!”

           “Yes, but friends spend their free time together, and that Friday will be the next time I have free time.”

           Cora’s expression has suddenly gone very soft, and her eyes look a little misty. “Of course,” she says, readjusting her head on Sarah’s shoulder, and Sarah knows, though Cora says nothing else, that she’s understood.

Friday arrives after a week and a half of delicious anticipation, and while Cora is disappointed that Sarah has laid out her plainest, most sensible clothes, she acquiesces to reason. “I want us to look as if we belong together, Cora. As friends,” Sarah says. Really, she wants to give Cora the best possible chance of blending in, which shouldn’t be too difficult as she never frequents Sarah’s corner of the kingdom, and certainly shouldn’t be too noticeable on a busy afternoon at the shops, particularly if they avoid traveling in typical style.

Cora is so taken by the wide array of fabrics and notions available in the tiny shop that Sarah fears she might actually lose her in a space not even half the size of the library at Downton. She places her order for Cora’s supplies with the shop girl, and trails after Cora, which isn’t so difficult as she pauses every two seconds to look at this and finger that.

“Come, Cora,” she says, taking her gently by the arm. “The shop girl is arranging what you need for your lacework. Would you like to look at fabrics?”

Cora moves down the rows of fabrics, studying the colors and weights, moving from one to the other without real interest in any, looking thoroughly unimpressed at the wide variety of sensible wools. Sarah bites her lip against a smile and gently points her toward the silks and satins that line the back wall. There’s one that’s always caught her eye, and if she’s lucky, she’ll get Cora to like it just as much. She dismisses the thought that she hates to sew silk.

“I’ve often thought about this for you,” she says, pulling a bolt of deep blue silk down from the shelf. “Just look at that color. It would look beautiful with your eyes and complexion.”

Cora smiles and picks up a swatch, holding it up to the light. “My, that is lovely. It catches the light just so. But whatever would you make me from it?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, Cora. I could find something, I’m sure. You would look so lovely in it.”

 “Well then,” Cora says, “I must have it.” She steps away from Sarah with a graceful elegance of movement that Sarah admires from afar, and envies quite often. She leaves Cora amongst the silk while she makes their next request of the shop girl, who is thankfully still sat by the front window, organizing the display.

“What will you have, Sarah?” Cora asks when she returns.

“I hadn’t really thought about me,” Sarah replies, but against her best efforts her gaze flits over to the dark purple taffeta she’s been eyeing for what seems like years.

“A taffeta, then? Let’s look.” Cora moves to the taffeta with purpose, with the confidence of one who has been shopping without ever giving a single thought to the money spent.

“I hadn’t planned on buying anything for me, Cora,” Sarah says, but dutifully follows her anyway.

“Oh, this is lovely!” Cora exclaims having managed to unerringly find the object of Sarah’s attention. “It would look well on you, Sarah. This is what you were looking at, wasn’t it? The one you glanced at before?”

“Yes, Cora, but it’s more than I’d like to spend,” she says, hoping that it’s a nicer way of saying that she can’t possibly afford it.

“What did you want it for?”

Sarah is at a loss, but she can’t ignore the question. “I thought it would make a pretty dress to wear out, to church. Something that’s not black.”

“You would look quite smart, I think. And you deserve a new dress.”

“Cora, I’ve already committed to making you something. Perhaps next time.” As she says it, Sarah knows that Cora will have seen through it.

“Sarah, if you want it, you shall have it. What use is there in money that isn’t spent every now and then? Let me buy something for you.”

Somehow, being with Cora in the shop is different than when Cora simply brings her “little nothings” from her shopping trips: the hand mirrors and the ribbons and the gaily-wrapped candies, all items without consequence that Sarah has no use for – well, apart from the chocolates. “You frequently buy things for me; most everything I own, in fact,” Sarah says, and wants to take it back as soon as it’s left her mouth.  

Cora looks stricken, and her expressive face doesn’t fail to belie her confusion at Sarah’s tone.

“I’m sorry, Cora,” she says quietly, and squeezes her arm. “Truly I am. That remark was uncalled for. I don’t think that at all, you know that.”

“It’s all right,” Cora answers. Nevertheless, she looks longingly at the purple taffeta, and Sarah wonders what she’s imagining. “If you truly do not want it, I’ve no right to force you to buy it. But if you like it, and the only thing preventing you from purchasing it is the cost, please let me do this for you.”

She is so sweet, so terribly earnest, that Sarah can’t possibly refuse, and anyway, she doesn’t want to tell her no. “Thank you, Cora,” she says, and she has the sense that Cora knows how hard those words are for her to say.

At the counter, arranging to have the bill sent, as usual, to herself at Downton where Cora can settle it properly, Sarah can’t even bring herself to regret letting Cora buy the fabric – even if the final total is well over three times as much as she’s ever spent on fabric, even for Cora. She imagines the feel of the taffeta against her skin, the way it sounds as it moves, and she can’t wait to begin playing with it on her dress form. It’s been a very long time since she made herself something purely because she could, because her grandmother taught her, once upon a time, to sew. And anyway, thinking about what she might do with her taffeta takes her mind off what she can do with Cora’s silk – and that is a very good thing indeed.

Outside, Sarah insists on carrying their packages, but Cora links their arms and they walk companionably down the street to the tea house, looking for all the world like a pair of close friends enjoying an ordinary afternoon at the shops.

           In the tea shop, they are settled comfortably by the window overlooking the street, and as they wait for their tea and pastry, Cora keeps Sarah thoroughly entertained by regaling her with stories about the passers-by.

           “Ah, look there, Sarah,” she says, nodding her head at a young man awkwardly adjusting his collar, then his coat. “He’s off to propose to his sweetheart, I think. He’ll stop to buy her flowers, because he can’t yet afford a ring. She’ll smile and accept the flowers as a promise for the future, because she loves him.”

           For her part, Sarah can’t look out the window and make up stories about perfect strangers in the street, but then Sarah hasn’t spent much of her life looking out at people and meeting only the ones deemed appropriate by Debrett’s. The more she thinks about it, the more she regrets this lonely existence that Cora leads.

           They sip their tea and eat the French cakes on the tiered tray and chat pleasantly about the utterly mundane until the church bells tolling the hour remind Sarah that they are to meet the driver.

In the car, sat amongst the packages, Cora looks at Sarah with a happy, tired expression. “Thank you for the tea, Sarah,” she says. “I did enjoy it. This was a lovely afternoon.”

           “It certainly was. Thank you for the fabric.”

           Cora dismissively waves away her thanks. “Wear it well, whatever you make from it. Besides, you really should think of it as one grand thank-you gift anyway; I wouldn’t be here to spend an afternoon at the shops with you if you hadn’t taken such good care of me, Sarah. I know you did.”

           “My reward is that you’re well. I had no intention of allowing sickness and an incapable doctor to take away someone I love,” Sarah finds herself saying, because it’s the truth, and right now, sat next to her on fine leather seats, surrounded by beautiful fabric that costs more than she makes in three months, she and Cora are friends – and friends speak the truth. “We’ll have to do it again,” Sarah says, boldly, louder this time, hoping that this last will have sufficiently distracted Cora away from her admission.

           “Of that, I am quite certain,” Cora answers with a gentle smile, and takes Sarah’s hand and is quiet for the rest of the journey.


	3. Of Love

Sarah is pinning the sleeves on Cora’s new blouse when Cora takes her by surprise. She almost doesn’t register the older woman’s comment as she’s so intently focused on her task, for Sarah despises puckered sleeves, and would prefer to only have to sew the delicate silk once, not just because she hates working with silk, but because it’s not good for the fabric.

           “Sarah,” Cora says quietly, “I was hoping to speak to you. Do you think we might have lunch here?”

           “You can tell me now; I’m just about done with the tricky bits.”

           “No, I – “ Cora looks down at her stocking feet. “No, I want us to have a proper conversation. Would you mind?”

           Sarah raises an eyebrow. “Of course not. I can arrange it with Mrs. Hughes, or you can call down; it makes no difference to me.”

           “I can call when you’ve finished. There’s no reason for you to rush down there.” Her words are oddly distant for a woman who has been so overtly affectionate, but Sarah puts it out of her mind in favor of her needlework.

           She lays the pinned blouse over the back of Cora’s chair. “Something’s bothering you, Cora. I wish you’d tell me what it is.”

           “Oh, I will. I will. I would prefer that we have a proper conversation.”

           “Very well,” Sarah sighs, and resigns herself to waiting. “Come, let’s replace your blouse.”

           “It looks so lovely, Sarah. You were right about the color.”

           “I’ve been considering it for a very long time, but couldn’t justify the cost. I think I would have bought it, eventually, I think. Once I talked myself into spending that much.”

           Cora laughs. “I’m glad I went with you then. I can’t wait to wear it.”

           “You’ll be stunning, as always,” Sarah says, doing up the buttons on Cora’s blouse. She busies herself putting her sewing basket to rights while Cora calls down to Mrs. Hughes, pleading tiredness and Sarah’s agreement to keep her company.

           “Watch out with that excuse, Cora, or she’ll insist you see the doctor.”

           “She can’t insist anything; this is my house after all, even if Robert thinks it’s his, his mother thinks it’s hers, my daughter thinks it’s hers, and Mrs. Hughes thinks I’m incapable of running it.”

           “You’re too hard on yourself. You run your household quite well, and I’ve seen a number of poorly-run households to compare it to.”

           “I do appreciate the vote of confidence, Sarah, but I rather think you might be partial to me.”

           “Partial to you, yes, but I’m honest.”

           Cora smiles, then, more genuinely. “Thank you.”

           A knock at the door signals the arrival of their lunch, which Sarah sets on the sideboard before she notices that Cora has spread some kind of fabric over the table by the window.

           “I borrowed it from your mending basket.”

           Sarah laughs. “It’s fine. Just leftovers from a petticoat I shortened to a slip for you.”

           “Come, sit, Sarah. I’ll be Mother. I do know how to serve a guest, you know, and you are my guest today.”

           Sarah smiles and watches her bustle around. It’s a rare privilege to be on the receiving end of such generosity. They nibble at their lunch, chatting about nothing of consequence. Finally, Cora dabs her lips with her napkin and takes a sip of water. “Sarah, when we went to tea the other day, you said something that I wanted to ask you about.”

           Sarah does her best to keep her surprise from her expression. “What’s that?”

           “Well, it’s only that you said that you – in the car, you said something loving me, and I wondered if that were true.” She says the last bit very quickly, the words running together, as if she’s embarrassed to have raised the point at all.

           “I – Cora, I – yes. Yes, Cora. I do. I love you.”

           “Oh. Oh, good. I’m flattered,” Cora says after a moment, her voice touched with restrained pleasure. “But I suppose what I mean to say is – how, precisely, do you love me?”

           “Oh, dearest,” Sarah says, now that the endearments have become practically commonplace. “I suppose that I idolized you, for want of a better word, when I was younger, and when I came to work for you, I suppose I loved you for who you are, for the kind mistress you were to me. But recently, yes, I have loved you more fully.”

           “Do you mean romantically?”

           “Yes, Cora,” she says, hoping to keep the nervousness and nascent humiliation out of her voice.

           “Oh, good,” Cora says again. “I – you surprise me, Sarah.”

           “Oh?”

           “Robert has no interest in me.”

           “I wouldn’t say that, Cora –“

           “No, he hasn’t. I’m not bothered about it.”

           “Well, in that case – “

           “And I wondered why it doesn’t bother me,” she says, her bottom lip trembling. “And then I realized it’s because I don’t much care whether or not Robert is still interested in me.”

           “Oh, Cora – “

           “And then I started thinking, and I do. I love you as well,” she finishes, her voice touched with surprise, as if she’s worked this out just sitting there.

           “Cora, you don’t need – “

           “I can’t imagine a day without you, Sarah,” she says, fidgeting with her napkin. “You know that.” She laughs. “I know I frustrate you on your half day, but it’s genuine. I don’t like it when you’re not around.”

           She stands suddenly and walks over to the window seat. “Come sit with me, Sarah.”

           Sarah obeys wordlessly, as if there were ever any question about obeying her order, and when she’s tucked into the small space, facing Cora, she laces their fingers together, hoping to calm her.

           “I like it when you come to undress me at night and we talk. I like waking up to the sound of your voice every morning, and I hate it when someone else brings my tea. I like it when you smile and it’s because I’ve said something that you find amusing. I love it when you bring your needlework up here and I can watch you. I want to know what you think about things. I like it when you hold my hand.” Her voice catches, and Sarah ducks her head down to see her face, half-hidden on her shoulder. To hell with it, Sarah decides, and pulls Cora against her.

           “And when I was sick, I heard you, you know. I heard your voice, and when I woke up, I wanted it to be you that I saw, and I knew you were there. That’s love, Sarah. What else could it be? I didn’t think of my husband, not even of my daughters, but of you. I’m terrified that you will leave me. I love you, Sarah, as well, I know that. I don’t need to think about whether or not I love you.”

           There are times, Sarah thinks, when caution is indeed the better part of valor, and there are times to throw caution to the wind. This is the latter. She puts a finger underneath Cora’s chin to tilt her face upwards, and winces at the tears glistening in her eyes. She brushes her lips gently over Cora’s, and after a moment, catches Cora’s bottom lip between her own. They part after a blissful moment, and Sarah guides her head back to her shoulder.

           “I love you,” she murmurs into Cora’s hair. “I’ve waited so long to tell you that.”

           “Now you must tell me every day,” Cora answers, and Sarah doesn’t need to look at her face to know she’s smiling. “To make up for it.”

           “Gladly, dearest,” Sarah says, for it’s the one endearment she can’t recall Lord Grantham ever using with his wife.

           “Sarah,” Cora says, after a few moments curled quietly against each other. “What do we do now?”

           “I haven’t quite thought that far ahead. Why don’t we start slowly, hmm? What would you like to do in the next five minutes? Something that we can accomplish in five minutes. I’ll watch the clock.”

           “I think you should kiss me, Sarah O’Brien, until your five minutes are up! ”Cora exclaims, laughing freely, as Sarah hasn’t heard her laugh since long before the war, and when she’s kissed her, and Cora’s curled into her embrace, Sarah presses a kiss to her temple, just above her ear.

           “She walks in beauty, like the night,” Sarah begins, and savors the quiet perfection of Cora’s mouth against her skin, curving into a smile Sarah feels, but cannot see.


End file.
